


Red, golden, and nude

by My_kokoro



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anal Sex, And Steve likes Tony in sexy underwear, Artist Steve Rogers, Awkward Dates, Bisexual Tony Stark, Blow Jobs, Christmas, Clothing Kink, Gay Steve Rogers, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Insecure Steve Rogers, M/M, Meeting in a gay bar, One Night Stands, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Skinny!Steve, Switching, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony has sexy underwear because he likes it, the first two chapters are mostly sex, the second chapter is not as porny as the first, tony stark's red thong
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-19 17:44:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14242512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_kokoro/pseuds/My_kokoro
Summary: Tony watches Steve with heavy-lidded eyes, and his lips curl. He moves under the thin white sheet, and stretches like a cat, sighing, eyes fluttering close for a few seconds, arching his back. His legs pull at the sheet, making it pool down his stomach. Tony watches Steve as this last shakes his head in disapproval -how is he supposed to draw him if Tony keeps moving every few minutes?-, and then he smiles.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!  
> So for this simple fic I've based Tony and Steve on Earth-616's. Tony is blue-eyed, and 1m85/6'1". I'm not sure whether the use of pet names is very 616!Tony though. Steve is skinny!Steve, I've put him around 1m72/5'8" (Sharon's height), based on the pannels of that issue where Steve is de-serumed (I dunno the name of that issue, I didn't actually read it, I've read about it on an amazing tumblr post. The artist is the same as the one from Avengers Prime, though). I've also got Jan and Bobbi Morse (Mockingbird), based on A:EMH. The rest of the cast is inspired from the MCU. They're all, apart from the Maximoff twins, in their late twenties, early thirties. I hope you enjoy!

Anyone would tell you that Steve is a stubborn little shit with a ‘fight me!’ complex. Usually though, Steve gets into fights because it’s the Right Thing To Do. Because he hates bullies, and someone has to fight them, even if it ends up with his frail self being beaten into a pulp, and his best friend Bucky flying to the rescue.

So when Steve finds himself glaring and wanting to punch the gorgeous man  sitting on a stool by the counter far over on the other end of the bar, completely unaware of Steve’s wrath, well… Steve is forced to admit that it’s not the Right Thing To Do. He can’t help it, though, the anger and the annoyance he feels watching Gorgeous over there.  
Because Gorgeous is handsome and cleans up nicely, and in the past hour since Steve’s noticed him, he’s been flirted by numerous hunks, and has turned down all of them -some of them Steve knows to be asses, but others pretty nice guys-.

Steve, well… it’s not that people don’t like him. He’s well-known in the bar, people like his spirit and he has numerous friends. He has dated a few. But Steve is skinny, clumsy, and awfully awkward when it comes to flirting. So people don’t flirt with him. His past boyfriends were people he knew as friends before, or friends of friends that had been introduced to him. Meeting random hunks in a gay bar? Doesn’t happen. Not to him.

But Gorgeous, over there, has had those hunks lining up to try and get a piece of him, and he just throws them away like trash. This ass doesn’t know how lucky he is, or maybe he’s so arrogant that he has ridiculously high standards. That wouldn’t surprise Steve, coming from a rich-looking handsome guy.

There’s another thing that raises Steve’s hackles. Gorgeous is obviously looking for an one-night stand. Just look at how he’s all dressed up, as sexily as possible, his eyes scanning the crowd. He’s not waiting for his date, since he’s not checking the time on his expensive watch. He’s just sitting there, on his stool, sipping drink after drink. Steve is pretty sure Gorgeous is a lady killer, pretty sure he can flirt as he breathes. Everything about him screams of sex. But Gorgeous looks uncomfortable each time a guy comes up showing interest. He smiles and rejects gently the person, but Steve can see how tensed up he is in the way his spine and hips shift slightly away from the other. The other doesn’t notice, shrugs, disappointed, and leaves. It’s as if Gorgeous didn’t actually like men, so why is he there, in a gay bar, luring people in for naughts? Is it because of some bet?

Steve really wants to punch him, and, well, Bucky’s stuck in the traffic and texting him not to wait for him, so Steve’s suddenly striding through the crowd and heading straight for the counter. He hops on the stool next to Gorgeous, orders a mocktail, and turns towards him, staring straight at him and throwing aggressively;

“Hey. So what’s a het doing here?”

Gorgeous blinks at him, and shit, up close, he’s even more attractive. His eyes are dark blue and expressive, his jaw chiseled, his beard perfectly styled in a Van Dyke, black hair swept aside his forehead and curling slightly behind his ears and on his nape.

“A het?” repeats Most Gorgeous. His voice is unfairly smooth, too.

“Heterosexual. We’re in a gay bar, I dunno if you’ve noticed.”

Most Gorgeous gapes at him for a few seconds, looking taken aback, and then he frowns and straightens up defensively.

“I know what a het is, thank you very much. And I’ve noticed. I’m here on purpose.”

“Well at least wear a sign or something, ‘cause they’re going to keep going for you and you’re obviously uncomfortable with it,” says Steve, fighting to keep the aggressiveness he feels out of his voice.

Still, Most Gorgeous looks affronted and his shoulders tense up even more.

“I’m bisexual, you ass,” he snaps, grabbing his drink with his left hand and taking a large gulp.

Steve’s anger fades out, and he watches him, wonders why he’s so wind up and why he’s there anyway, dressed up as if trying to get a warm body for the night and then pushing away anyone that tries asking him out.

“Okay. My bad. I’m Steve,” he offers, his tone gentler.

Tony still has a defiant look on his face, but his stance relaxes slowly. He nods in salutation.

“Tony.”

“Haven’t seen you before. I’m a regular here.”

“It’s my first time coming here,” admits Tony. “A friend recommended the place to me. I can see why.”

“You like it?”

Tony smiles. Steve thinks back to all the fake smiles he’s seen him throw to the others, and can’t help but notice the one he’s been offered seems genuine. He feels himself warming up to the guy.

“I like it,” says Tony. “The music’s great, and they have mean mocktails.”

And then he jumps as if realizing he has said something he shouldn’t have.

“You don’t drink alcohol?” prods Steve. 

Tony squirms and avoids his eyes, and Steve can’t help but reach for him, putting a comforting hand on his arm and gently squeezing it.

“Hey, I’m not judging. I don’t drink either.”

“Oh, you…?”

“I just don’t like it,” smiles Steve, though inside he isn’t smiling, because he can’t help thinking of his drunk of a father.

“Ah. You’ve got more common sense than me, then,” replies Tony with a self-deprecating smile. “I’m… um, sober. I try to be, that is.”

So Tony’s a recovering alcoholic… that usually would be enough to send Steve running away. But surprisingly, this time he stays, the warmth growing even more in his chest. It has to be Tony’s gorgeousness that’s affecting him ; attractive people really have it easier, thinks Steve.

“Seems to me common sense hasn’t left you yet, then. There’s still hope for you,” he smirks, going for dry humor.

It works. Tony is finally fully relaxed, and he leans on his left elbow, supporting his chin in his palm, as he smirks back at Steve.

“Why, thank you, doctor.”

There’s a slight purr in his voice, and Steve finds himself getting confused, because it looks like Tony’s flirting with him.

“So, what kind of fish were you trying to catch?” he asks. “Cause you won’t convince me you came here looking like that, not intending to catch.”

“Yeah? You think I look good?”

Steve rolls his eyes.

“Seriously? I’m pretty sure your mirror praises you enough. Don’t need me to flatter you too. So, really, what’s your type? I know pretty much everybody here, we’re mostly regulars, so I could point you to someone.”

“That’s nice of you. What makes you think I’m looking for a certain type?”

“All the guys that tried to hook up with you were hunks. I seriously don’t get why you wouldn’t jump on that.”

Tony arches an eyebrow. He’s still leaning on the counter, his chin propped up in his hand, and he’s watching Steve with eyes that almost shimmer. His smile is soft, almost fond.

“I’m not that attracted to muscles,” he says, quietly enough that before Steve even realizes it, he’s scooping his stool closer to Tony’s until he finds himself awfully close to him and can feel the warmth seeping from his body. Maybe that’s what Tony wanted, maybe that was why he had chosen to talk in a lower voice, so that Steve would need to get closer to hear him clearly. There’s still music and chatter in the bar.

Steve can’t help checking up Tony again, frowning.

“You’re pretty muscular yourself.”

“Why is it you want me so much to be a narcissist?” asks Tony, droll.

“Sorry, I just find it weird. Who doesn’t like muscles?”

“You’re a muscles fan?”

Steve feels his cheeks starting to burn. How did the conversation go from Tony’s insecurities to his own? He tries to play it off, shrugging.

Tony watches him with disturbingly understanding eyes, and then he leans away from the counter and grabs his drink again, taking another sip from his mocktail. Steve can see him throwing him a glance from the corner of his eye, and finds his breath catching in his throat.

He’s totally deluding himself. Even if Tony isn’t attracted to muscular guys, there’s no way he’d be interested in some runt like Steve.

And then Tony turns back and faces him again, and he isn’t smiling. He’s dead serious.

“Look, Steve. I’m not lying when I say I’m bi. The thing is, my last rodeo with a guy was in college and that was a long time ago. Also, he was a fucking asshole. So yeah, I’m not attracted to muscles, and I don’t feel safe around people like that, and I haven’t been in a gay bar for ages so I’m pretty rusty. But I want to be fucked tonight, and for once I don’t think a strap-on will do it. So, I don’t know why you came to talk to me as if you were looking for a fight, only to suggest to find me someone to bed, but I’m really tired already and not really in the mood for flirting.”

“Uh, I’m not flirting,” snaps Steve defensively.

“You’re not, but I know how people look at me when they want me, and you definitely do. So how about this? I don’t need you to find me someone, you’re there already and I like you just fine. Interested in having me?”

Steve’s jaw drops to the floor. This can’t be happening! He has to be dreaming! There’s no way a guy as gorgeous as Tony would want to hook up with him after a few words, nor want a skinny bean pole like Steve to top him!

He closes and opens his mouth a few times, but he doesn’t know how to respond, doesn’t know what to say.

Well, he has been scrutinizing Tony all night, it’s only fair that would Tony read him back, isn’t it? Because that’s what Tony’s doing, watching him closely as if he was reading Steve’s thoughts like a book.

And Tony gently reaches for him, takes his hand in his, his thumb smoothing his pulse point, while his other hand reaches for Steve’s face and brings him closer to his.

“I mean it” he breathes in the shell of Steve’s ear, and Steve shivers, “I’m interested in you. I like people like spitfire, and that’s exactly what you are. Also, I want to see those eyes of yours in full light.”

Steve’s laughing, breathlessly. He’s shifting, feeling unstable on his stool, and he puts his free hand on Tony’s shoulder for support. He only has to turn his head a little, and he’s staring right into Tony’s eyes. Without thinking, he drops a kiss on the corner of his mouth. They are so close he can smell Tony’s cologne mixed with the scent of the mocktail he’s been drinking.

“What’s with my eyes?” he laughs, keeping his lips there, brushing against Tony’s facial hair.

“I’ve been stupidly stuck trying to find a word to describe them, that’s what it is,” replies Tony, pressing a kiss on Steve’s cheekbone. “All I’ve come up with for now is ‘azure’ and that sounds ridiculously outdated.” His lips trail down Steve’s cheek, and then aim for his mouth.

Steve kisses him back. Tony tastes like sugar and cranberry. Steve hopes Tony likes mango, because that’s what was in Steve’s own mocktail.

“Okay,” he says against Tony’s lips. “I don’t mind outdated, but I’d like to hear more. Preferably somewhere else. Preferably in a nice, big bed.”

Tony kisses him again, and licks into Steve’s mouth. Steve pushes his tongue against his, and fights back until he retreats. Feeling oddly drunk, Steve explores his mouth, Tony’s tongue gently teasing his. When they finally break apart, they’re panting and Steve’s a little worried about his asthma.

“Let’s go,” rasps Tony, sliding off his tool and reaching into his inner pocket for his purse. He throws a few bills on the counter. It probably covers Steve’s drink, but Steve still stubbornly takes out a few coins to pay his own.

 “Your place or mine?” he asks.

His heart is hammering in his chest, and he’s still waiting for the dream to fade, or for Tony to suddenly laugh it all out and say he isn’t actually interested and was fucking with him.

It doesn’t happen. Tony glances at Steve’s change on the counter and Steve can see acceptance in his eyes, and then Tony’s left arm wraps around Steve’s slender waist, and he guides him out of the bar. Steve presses his shoulder against Tony’s and glances up at him. Tony has a few inches over him, but not too much. For all that he’s skinny, Steve is of average height.

“I could pay a room,” suggests Tony, glancing back at him. 

“Ok, no, my place it is,” retorts Steve.

They take their coats in the cloakroom, they’re out of the bar, and Tony’s arm has let go of Steve’s waist. Steve takes hold of his hand, and their fingers intertwine. Tony’s hand is surprisingly rougher than he’d thought; he probably works with his hands a lot. 

“I don’t mind paying a room,” insists Tony.

“Yeah, I get you’re full of money, but I don’t want that,” says Steve, in his decisive voice, the one his friends jokingly called the Captain Tone.

Tony arches an eyebrow, again, and looks both mutinous and amused. In the end, he simply nods and smirks;

“Sir, yes sir. I’ll follow you, sir!”

Steve grimaces.

“Not you too,” he groans as Tony laughs.

Steve leads him through the neighborhood. The Christmas decorations illuminate the streets full of joyful people. There are Christmas carols bursting from the bars and the still opened shops. Steve is still holding Tony’s hand. Their breath make small white puffs in the cold.

“There,” says Steve, reaching his door. He searches his pockets for his key, and curses because there is way too much stuff in his pockets and it takes ages. He feels Tony stepping up closer behind him and shivers when Tony’s arms wrap around his shoulders, his lips nipping at the tender skin behind his ear. Flushing, Steve finally finds his keys and fumbles to open the door. He pulls Tony inside, leads him up the stairs to the second floor. Steve has barely closed the apartment door behind him that Tony is crowding him against it, his hands cupping his face and bringing it to his, kissing him deeply. His body is firm against Steve’s. 

Steve’s hands wander around, opening up Tony’s coat, pulling at his scarf, popping open the buttons of the sexy maroon shirt that was already not buttoned up enough. Tony’s body is warm and firm, and he shivers as Steve’s fingers, cold from outside, trail over his bare skin.

Steve pushes him and escapes from his embrace, quickly taking off his coat and pullover and hanging them. He takes Tony’s coat and jacket from him, hangs them both next to his. Bucky’s coat isn’t there, so Steve knows he has some time before Bucky comes home, which is good; quiet sex isn’t as fun. 

They’re kissing again, Steve tugging at Tony’s belt, pulling him with him towards his bedroom.

“Wait,” murmurs Tony as they enter his room, and Steve pauses.

Tony is looking around, his eyes taking in the paintings and drawings hung on the walls, the art supplies stacked up in a mess on the table and the blank canvas on its easel.

“You’re an artist?” he asks. There’s this shimmer again in his eyes.

“Yeah. Um, I hope the smell of the paint is okay with you?”

Tony is still looking at the paintings. It’s a bit strange that he’d stop in the middle of their heated kissing, only to look at Steve’s worthless work. Then he turns around and inhales deeply, eyes closed, and laughs. Steve stills, unsure of he’s being mocked -he isn’t-. Tony opens his eyes and sits down on the bed, grinning, and hooks his fingers in Steve’s waistband, pulling him toward him.

“This is perfect,” he says, and there is so much _life_ in his voice, so much force, as if Steve was finally seeing the _real_ Tony. “You were right, a hotel would’ve been a fucking waste. This is perfect, you’re perfect, come here so I can worship you.”

Steve laughs giddily. He’s standing in front of Tony, who’s still sitting on the bed, and Tony is undressing him. As soon as Steve’s naked, Tony wraps his arms around his waist and brings him closer, buries his nose in Steve’s pubic hair. Steve’s heart jumps in his chest, and his blood rushes south.

“Natural blond, huh?” chuckles Tony, kissing his way around Steve’s growing erection and purposely avoiding it.

“Natural tease, huh?” retorts Steve, his breath short and his knees weakening.

Tony pauses, his breath teasing the sensitive skin.

“Condom?” he asks.

Shit, how had Steve forgotten that? 

“Just a second,” he mutters, pulling out of Tony’s embrace and opening up his drawer. 

As he picks up lube and condoms, he sees in his periphery Tony standing up and unbuckling his belt, unzipping his jeans and taking them off, -and oh wow, he’s wearing a silky red thong and looks absolutely gorgeous in it-. He keeps the thong on, about to take off the opened maroon shirt, when Steve stops him with a hand on his elbow.

“Hey, no, keep the shirt on.” 

Tony’s eyebrow arches again. It’s quickly becoming a quirk of his that Steve is very fond of.

“I’m serious,” he laughs, pushing Tony back on the bed. “The shirt is sexy. Keep it on for now?”

For a second, something like hesitation and mistrust, as if Tony thought he was being mocked, showed in Tony’s eyes, but it vanishes in the blink of an eye, so Steve doesn’t dwell on it.

“Okay, sure, whatever you want sugar,” Tony laughs, taking a condom from Steve. He rips the packet open, grinning; “Com’ere. I wanna blow you.”

“Be my guest,” smirks Steve, arms linking around Tony’s shoulders. The silk of the maroon shirt is deliciously smooth under his skin, and he loves crumpling it, the creases adding to Tony’s sexual, mussed up look.

Tony carefully sheathes him with the condom, and leans in, licks his length from the root to the tip before taking it in his mouth. Steve shudders. Tony’s mouth is warm and inviting, and looking down, watching Tony sucking on him is such an erotic sight that he almost comes here and now. Tony tries taking him deeper, and Steve’s hips can’t help but buckle, a small thrust.

Tony gags and pulls out.

“Sorry,” they both say at the same time.

Steve soothes Tony’s nape with his hands, leans down to kiss the crown of his head.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, “I’ll try to keep still.”

“No, no, it’s on me,” murmurs Tony, “I’m completely out of practice. I’m sorry, I don’t think I can blow you tonight.”

“Let me, then,” says Steve, gently. He can hear the self-disappointment in Tony’s voice, and somehow, it makes something burn brighter in his chest, and he wants to comfort him. He makes Tony lie down on his back, climbs on the bed to join him. Hovering over him, he admires the way Tony looks, laying there under him, all his to take -his tousled hair, flushed cheeks, how dilated the pupils of his eyes are, how he visibly offers his throat to Steve, how the crimson silk slips down his strong arms, revealing his collarbone, the curve of his shoulders, his chest and ribs…-. Steve presses a hand on his torso, right over his heart, fingertips slightly scratching against Tony’s chest hair -vaguely, Steve registers that there is also a thin stripe of silky-smooth skin on Tony’s chest- Bending his head, Steve kisses his mouth. Tony embraces him and moans into the kiss as Steve sucks on his tongue. Steve pushes down Tony’s thong. Tony squirms and lifts his hips to help him get rid of the underwear -silky and scarlet, just like the shirt, and it makes Steve smile as he sits next to Tony, sliding the thong down his legs. Tony’s legs are strong and long, firm and hairy. As Steve gets the underwear off Tony’s feet, he laughs as he notices that Tony’s still wearing his socks. He takes them off too, throws them over his shoulder and then dives in, kissing his way up Tony’s calf and knee. Tony moans and his legs fall open, letting Steve settle there between them. Steve is kissing his thigh. 

“Touch yourself,” he demands, nipping at Tony’s quivering muscles.

He watches him wrapping his left hand around his hardening member, head falling back on the pillow with a deep sigh that makes Steve’s blood sing with arousal. He watches as Tony’s sex fully hardens in his own grip and flushes a darker color.

Steve already knows that Tony will remain the star of his wet dreams for a long time. Just watching him stroking himself, laying with abandon on Steve’s bed, legs spread wide open around Steve’s hips, head fallen back, eyes closed and mouth opened, his chest hovering in time with his panting, the maroon shirt pooling on the bed and around his well-defined shoulders, the wrinkled collar framing his sweating neck and clavicles.

Steve presses a hand on his stomach, traces with his fingers the outline of his abdominals. He was right about Tony’s musculature -he’s fit, and Steve has the familiar impulse in his fingers to draw him in charcoal. Tony’s so gracious though, lean and compact rather than wide and bulky, and Steve thinks he can understand why Tony doesn’t find bulgy muscles very attractive, because Tony, right there, is insanely more arousing-. 

Steve dips down and maps the lines of his muscles with open-mouthed kisses, feels Tony’s stomach quivering in response. He nips at his hip, and gently pries Tony’s hand off so as to put the condom on him.

It’s been a while since Steve has wanted to give a blowjob. He isn’t very fond of the idea, usually. But right now, he wants to, really wants to, and he shivers with lust and arousal as he wraps his lips around Tony’s erection, takes it in his mouth and starts bobbing his head up and down, hearing Tony’s breath hitch and morph into moans, feeling his legs shivering around his waist, his fingers burying into Steve’s hair and gently pulling on it. Steve lets him take control, lets him guide his head up and down. He takes hold of Tony’s hips and encourages him to move, too, to buck up into his mouth.

Tony moans, louder, and starts fucking his face, carefully, but so wantonly that Steve feels himself pushed closer and closer to his own release, and knows that he’s leaking. His hands force Tony’s hips down for a moment, just long enough to free his mouth and rasp;

“You still want to be fucked, right?”

“Yes, yes, please,” gasps Tony, his hands in Steve’s hair trembling. 

“Okay,” says Steve, and dips his head back down, letting Tony fuck his mouth again. He lets go of Tony’s hips and blindly searches for the bottle of lube, finds it, coats his fingers, and slips carefully one slicked finger inside of him. Tony gasps and twitches, and Steve’s mouth feels fuller, the pressure harder against his tongue.

Steve has a fleeting thought about Bucky, wonders if he’s already home and if he’s cursing Steve to oblivion, because as Steve adds finger after finger, Tony’s moans get louder and higher, until suddenly he’s pulling on Steve’s hair, pulling his mouth off him.

“Enough, enough,” is gasping Tony, “I’m too close.”

Looking up, Steve stills his fingers, watches as Tony shivers and arches, now gently rocking on Steve’s fingers. Steve admires how genuine he is, how he doesn’t hide how much he likes that, how much he wants more of Steve. Tony’s not ashamed of how wanton he is being, and he smirks at Steve, dark blue eyes with blown pupils lazily gazing at him from under heavy, half-closed lids.

“Com’on,” he purrs, “I’m ready, please, darling.”

“How do you want it?” asks Steve, pulling his fingers off and watching the lube drip down.

“However you want, I’m not picky.”

Steve pats at his hip, and Tony obediently rolls over on his stomach.

“On all four,” demands Steve.

“Sir, yes sir,” huffs Tony, and then he moves, kneels on the bed. Steve strips him off the red shirt, takes a moment to admire his bare, strong back, and then pushes him down.

Tony shivers as Steve runs his hands over his skin. Steve pauses, watches him. Tony’s on all fours just as he asked him, his head hanging down, forehead pressing against the pillow and damp hair sticking on his nape, sweat gathering in the small of his back, lube glistening and sliding down his spread thighs. He’s breathing loudly, he  must be thinking that Steve is too much of a tease.

So Steve gives it to him. Presses inside, slowly, carefully. He doesn’t want to come too soon, and God, Tony is so tight, it’s maddening. He doesn’t want to hurt him, either. 

So slow it is. Careful. Until he’s fully sheathed into Tony’s ass. Tight, tight, tight like a vice, and burning hot.

“Com’on,” growls Tony after a while, and Steve starts fucking him.

He watches his cock going in and out of Tony as he thrusts into him, and picks up the pace once he feels Tony’s tightness giving in and relax. It’s easier to fuck him now, and he thrusts faster, deeper, trying different angles.

“Ah, ah, right here, here, here, here,” gasps Tony, and Steve’s grip on his hips tighten, he keeps the angle and lets himself go. 

“Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, sugar, ah,” is moaning Tony, barely muffled by the pillow he’s burying his face into. Steve looks up and watches, mesmerized, the play of Tony’s muscular shoulders as he moves in time with Steve’s thrusts, arching his back and undulating his hips in a smooth, gracious move Steve had never seen before in any of his previous partners.

“Ah, ah touch me, ah, please, sugar!”

The pet names are ridiculous, but Tony’s voice is almost a sob. Steve forces himself to slow down, to take back some self-control, because rough sex isn’t something he does. He pulls out, moves Tony -and Tony is like putty in his hands, body lax and sweaty, allowing him to move him however he wants- until he has him laying back on his side. Tony’s watching him under half-closed lids, his hands reaching for the pillow, fingers curling into the fabric. Steve hooks one of his legs around his waist, and resumes fucking him, hoping the angle will be right ; it isn’t, not at once, so Tony rotates his hips a little until Steve presses against his prostate with each thrust. Moaning, Tony turns his head  into the pillow, though he can’t hide his face in it anymore. Steve has one arm wrapped against Tony’s bent leg, and with his free hand, he starts jerking him off.

It’s perfect.

It’s over in a instant.

Tony cries out and comes, and he’s clamping so hard on Steve that Steve follows immediately after with a shout.

It takes a while before they can catch their breath, and Steve is tempted to use his inhalator for a moment, but he’s lying spent in Tony’s arms and doesn’t have the strength to move.

Finally, they start shivering in the room, the sweat coating their bodies making them cold, so Steve carefully pulls out and frees them both from the soiled condoms. He reaches for tissues and wipes the lube leaking from Tony, making them both snicker like teenagers. Tony opens his arms for him again, and Steve settles against him, nestling his face in the space between his neck and his torso. He pulls the covers over the both of them, and they’re asleep in seconds.

 

In the morning Tony lazes around in the bed, and Steve draws him. It’s too early to have breakfast. Tony watches Steve with heavy-lidded eyes, and his lips curl. He moves under the thin white sheet, and stretches like a cat, sighing, eyes fluttering close for a few seconds, arching his back. His legs pull at the sheet, making it pool down his stomach. Tony watches Steve as this last shakes his head in disapproval -how is he supposed to draw him if Tony keeps moving every few minutes?-, and then he smiles. He’s caressing himself now, fingers tracing undetermined patterns on his skin, skipping over his nipples, tracing down his happy trail, wrapping around his half-hard member. He watches Steve as he starts stroking himself. 

Steve’s breath quickens. He feels himself hardening, too.

“You want a drawing of you jerking off?” he laughs. “Should’ve known you were a narcissist.”

“Huh, you were planning on offering me a drawing?” chuckles Tony, still lazily stroking himself, now fully hard. His free hand is still skipping over his nipples, and his spine arches. Surprisingly, it’s that movement, that vision of Tony’s spine bending that fully arouses Steve, makes him remember how good it felt, to be moving inside of him.

“Offering? I’m a starving artist,” he jokes, “you’ll have to buy it, mister.”

“Uh-huh,” drawls Tony, and then he moans a little, a soft, almost inaudible whine. He’s fully hard and stroking himself a little faster now, and he rips his eyes off Steve’s and stares up at the ceiling, mouth falling open. His other hand is now down between his legs and Steve holds his breath as he watches him pressing a finger inside of himself, and then one, two more, until all three fingers steadily sink in and drag out, in and out.

“Ah, are you, ah, going to join me, darling?” whispers Tony.

Steve doesn’t. He draws him just like that, fingering himself, the sheet wrapped around his calves. And Tony waits for him, maddeningly beautiful as he brings himself closer to the edge and then teases himself back down, never pushing himself over. When Steve puts down his piece of charcoal, Tony isn’t the only one leaking steadily. Steve puts on a condom in a hurry, joins him in the bed, rolls him over on his stomach, pressing him into the mattress, devouring his back with kisses. Tony watches him from the corner of his one visible eye, half his face buried in the pillow. Steve enters him easily -he’s so loose, so lax, so slick- and fucks into him slowly. 

Tony sighs.

It’s quiet. Steve can hear Bucky moving around the kitchen, the clatter of the bowls and silverware. He doubts Bucky can hear them, this time. They were both so loud last night, but now, everything is different, changed. Somehow, it’s heart-wrenching. The atmosphere is like the eve of the world ending. He wants to cry, and doesn’t really know why.

He keeps thrusting gently and slowly into Tony, dropping butterfly kisses all over his shoulders and nape. He loves Tony’s nape and buries his nose in his hair, inhales his scent. Tony has a leg bent, making it easier for Steve to go deep. One of Tony’s hands is laying flat on the mattress, the other playing with the pillow’s hem. Steve doesn’t know why, but there’s an intense longing tightening his chest, and so he reaches up and puts his hand on Tony’s, squeezes it tenderly. Tony glances back at him, and smiles.

Steve doesn’t know how long it lasts. It seems like they are suspended in time. He’s breathing quietly, and Tony is humming nonsense, and it’s a melody that Steve knows will haunt his dreams.

He kisses Tony’s nape one last time. Shudders. Comes. Keeps going, slowly, slowly, riding out his orgasm as long as he can. 

When he finally pulls out, he’s tired, but not that much. Tony turns in his embrace and presses a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth, his hand holding on Steve’s. Steve’s other hand wraps around Tony’s slippery member, and strokes him, sweetly, tightly. Tony falls quiet, taking in deep breaths, eyes closing, hips undulating at the same pace as Steve’s hand. Steve wants to put his mouth back down on him, but, seeing how Tony’s leaking, he’s taken with an intense need of having him come all over himself. 

“Touch yourself,” murmurs Steve, letting go of him.

Tony obeys. They’re still holding hands. Steve licks his nipple, presses a finger down his ass.

“Can I?”

“Please,” whispers back Tony.

Steve’s fingers slip inside. He leans in, kisses Tony on the mouth, swallows his soft whine as he starts massaging his prostate.

Tony shudders. Opens his mouth, tongue seeking out Steve’s. They kiss, tongues intertwining. They’re still holding hands. 

Tony’s body trembles, arches up, Steve presses firmly on that one spot inside of him, not moving his fingers, just pressing, pressing, pressing. He feels Tony clamping hard on his fingers, his whole body quake, his come spluttering all over them and drip down Steve’s stomach.

Tony sobs quietly in pleasure, and Steve kisses his tears.

They remain like this for a long moment, both painted with white streaks, still holding hands. They kiss lazily. Steve’s fingers stay there, keep caressing his insides. It doesn’t take long for Tony’s own fingers to return the favor. Steve shivers at the feeling of his long, agile fingers inside of him. Tony’s fingers are calloused, and slicked with cold lube, and it’s a delicious touch. 

They can’t harden again. Steve has no idea why they keep seeking pleasure that won’t bloom into completion. Maybe it’s not about completion.

Bucky turns the TV on. He probably thinks that Steve and his guest are still asleep, and he’s trying to wake them up.

Then Tony tears his mouth off his and gasps, and Steve watches, entranced, as he orgasms from the sole feeling of the fingers in him.

Steve kisses his throat, licks the sweat dripping there.

“Did you just come?” he murmurs.

“Hmm,” nods Tony.

“But your dick’s all soft.”

“Yeah. Butt orgasm. You don’t have those?”

Steve wonders why they’re whispering, but it feels like if they’d talk out loud, something would break. He shakes his head.

“No.”

“Hmm. Should I stop, then?”

Steve closes his eyes, focusing on Tony’s fingers in him. He doesn’t think he can come from his ass alone, and certainly not after coming once already, but he likes the feeling and is not ready for their embrace to end.

“I don’t know,” he says truthfully.

Tony squeezes his hand, gently, and kisses his temple. He fucks Steve with his fingers a little while longer, and then finally slips them out. Steve lets out a whine of disappointment.

“Sorry, darling,” murmurs Tony, kissing him. “This kind of thing, you’ve got to explore it by yourself first.”

Steve doesn’t want to admit that he just doesn’t want to get up, doesn’t want to let go of Tony, doesn’t want him to leave. So he just nods. They kiss one more time, and then they finally separate. 

Tony’s cum has dried up on their skin. It should be gross and uncomfortable, but Steve doesn’t mind. Tony picks up his clothes.

“Is it okay if I use the shower?” he asks quietly.

“Sure.”

Steve gives him a clean towel to wrap into, dresses up quickly, and opens the door. 

“The bathroom’s over there,” he directs, “come join us for breakfast when you’re done. My roommate’s made coffee.”

It’s true -the smell of coffee is drifting from the common room. Tony nods, kisses him on the cheek, and disappears in the bathroom, locking the door behind him. Steve is smiling like an idiot as he heads toward the common room.

Bucky’s sprawled on the couch, sipping coffee from his favorite mug. He looks tired. Steve takes two mugs from the cupboard, fills himself one, and comes to sit on the couch with Bucky. He greets him;

“Hi.”

“Yeah, _hi_. You should warn a guy, seriously, Stevie!”

“Sorry,” grins Steve.

He's not sorry. Bucky brings back girls often enough and is never quiet. And then suddenly Bucky laughs; 

“I should be late more often,” he snickers. “If it makes you get laid. It must’ve been good, considering how slutty he sounded.”

“Don’t call him slutty,” snaps Steve, frowning.

“Geez, Steve, you know I don’t mean it in a bad way.”

“I don’t like it. Don’t use that kind of words,” retorts Steve.

Bucky sighs, recognizing one of Steve’s ‘Fight Me’ moments. Steve doesn’t feel like he is being overly stubborn or ridiculous, though. It really feels wrong to call Tony a slut. 

Speaking of Tony, where is he? He can’t hear the shower anymore.

“I’ll be right back,” he mutters.

The bathroom door is open. The floor is wet and the mirror steamed up, but Tony isn’t there. He isn’t in the bedroom either. His coat and jacket are missing from beside Steve and Bucky’s coats. His shoes are missing too.

Tony has left without a goodbye. Without a name. Without a phone number. He’d probably never come back to the bar, and Steve would never see him ever again.

Steve swallows and tries to ignore the feeling of his heart breaking over someone he doesn’t even know. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Kudos and comments are loved. Don't hesitate to tell if you've spotted some mistake in my English, or if I missed a tag. Next chapter in a few!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve becomes famous thanks to a generous benefactor, celebrates Christmas with his friends, and gets to meet (again) his benefactor...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thank you for the kudos, bookmarks, and comments! I'm glad you're liking the story so far and hope you'll like what follows. ;)

Steve gets a name a few days later. A woman with fiery red hair, wearing a tailor and high-heels, visits Peggy’s Art Gallery. She presents herself as Ms Potts, the PA of Stark Innovations’ CEO, and asks for Steve’s paintings. She seems to know exactly what paintings she’s looking for and describes them with precision. Peggy and Steve are ecstatic, and Steve feels light-headed when he hears the price Ms Potts is ready to pay. He can’t accept such a price, it’s really too much for his average art, but Peggy accepts it, elbowing painfully Steve in the ribs before he can utter a word.

When Ms Potts is gone, Peggy slaps energetically his shoulder with a wide grin, saying:

“You go, Steve! Having Tony Stark looking for your paintings! You’re gonna get famous in the blink of an eye!”

“Who?” gasps Steve, because he doesn’t believe in coincidences.

“Tony Stark. The CEO of Stark Innovations? He’s one of the leading fortunes in America, you know? Hey, if he’s gonna be your patron, you’ve gotta know who he is. Look him up on the Internet, Steve.”

So Steve does look him up, and sure enough, Tony Stark is _his_ Tony. He doesn’t know what to do with this information.

It seems Tony Stark had been really famous for a while, with a playboy reputation, until he had almost died from drug abuse. Since then, he had retired from the public. It took years for the paparazzi to leave him alone; they had even followed him to his numerous rehabs. There are pictures of a sick-looking, exhausted and so young Tony Stark, obviously still in rehab, and that makes Steve want to punch those assholes to the moon. Finally, Tony not playing around anymore didn’t make him interesting enough in their eyes, so they stopped hounding him. Occasionally, there is an article here and then, but Steve doesn’t read those rags, which is why he hadn’t known about him. Steve also finds out with surprise that he used to be the CEO of Stark Industries, before he was stripped from his own company by Obadiah Stane -that bald guy who always appears on TV talking about the weapons Steve had been very familiar with during his time in the army-. It shouldn’t be a surprise; it _is_ named _Stark_ Industries after all, not _Stane_ Industries. Tony’s new company, Stark Innovations, doesn’t appear much in the news: it specializes in programming and robotics, and Steve is astounded by how much more useful and humanitarian it is. All that time he had thought that Bucky’s prosthetic arm was a product of Stark Industries, when it really is one of Stark Innovations. Stark Innovations doesn’t only make medical high-tech, they work for the NASA as well. 

Peggy was right: while Tony Stark is now rather absent from the public eye, he is a well-known figure in the higher circles, which means more rich people would follow his lead and get interested in Steve’s art.

Steve stands up, and crouches down towards his stack of drawings. Hidden behind a few canvases, is the drawing of Tony. Steve’s cheeks heat up as he picks it up and looks at it.

What had he been thinking, drawing someone in such an intimate moment? He doubts Tony would ever want that drawing. Who would want a drawing of themselves jerking off and fingering themselves? What had Steve been thinking, seriously?

The drawing is beautiful, though. And Steve feels his guts twisting and warming, feels himself hardening. He closes his eyes, trying to chase the image, but all it does is making the image come alive behind his eyelids, Tony’s scent -expensive cologne, iron and musk- filling up his nostrils, his throaty voice and moans echoing in his ears.

Christ. Steve has rarely been that obsessed about someone, and he feels shame curling in his chest. He hides again the drawing behind all the other canvases, and sits back on his chair, looking at the screen where Tony’s wiki page is still up.

That’s when he notices it. There’s a date highlighted there. The date of Howard and Maria Stark’s death by car accident, a dozen years ago.

Leads fills up Steve’s stomach. Tony looking to be fucked by a man, when he usually sticks to women, and this precisely _on the anniversary of his parents’ death_ … he doubts that is a coincidence.

So that was what Steve had been? A replacement for the booze Tony wouldn’t get drunk with anymore?

He closes the wiki page, feeling sick. He had hoped to be at least a good memory. Now, he’s left wondering why Tony is even bothering with buying his art.  
  
***  
  
On Christmas Eve, Bucky and him invite their closest friends for dinner. There’s Natasha, who looks like an actress with her ethereal figure, perfect features and gorgeous red hair. She’s a friend from their short time in the army, and she nows work for the CIA, or the FBI, or maybe she’s a spy -she doesn’t really tell, and they never dared ask her, because behind her sweet smiles and doe eyes, she can be vicious and very scary-. She brings along her neighbor’s children, the twins Wanda and Pietro, because they deserve a happy Christmas despite their mother’s drinking. Steve relates to that all too much and is always happy to welcome them in his home.

There’s Maria, too. She’s a cop, and she lives in the same building than Steve and Bucky, and they can’t quite remember how they ended up being friends, but they are, and she looks very funny dressed up in a silly Christmas pullover while still looking stern and strict. She has a headband with reindeer antlers stuck in her short dark hair.

She arrives at the same time than Thor, the bartender from Steve’s favorite gay bar. Thor’s a giant blond, bearded and long-haired, and really lives up to his name -he looks like a viking, to be honest-. He has a booming voice and seems a bit clueless sometimes, but he has the biggest heart Steve has ever seen, and he’s surprisingly wise when he lets go of his carefree attitude. Thor has brought along his girlfriend Jane, who is a scientist and looks his complete opposite -she’s quiet and not very people-friendly, often stuck in her own world of calculations-, and Darcy, who’s Jane’s intern. Darcy is the funniest girl Steve has ever met, and she’s living to it right now; she’s bought the ugliest Christmas pullovers for Thor, Jane and her to wear, and she has swapped her regular glasses for big, glowy ones. She’s wearing big bunny ears too, though Steve isn’t sure what that has to do with Christmas.

Sam arrives next, holding a big white box on top of his presents. Steve helps him putting the gifts under their Christmas tree, where the ones of Nat, Maria, Thor, Jane and Darcy’s already are, and puts the white box in the fridge. Inside the box is Sam’s masterpiece: a Christmas cake he made with the famous recipe of his mother. Sam looks like an actor, too; he’s dark-skinned, with beautiful features, shining intelligent eyes, and a neatly trimmed goatee. Steve used to have the biggest crush on him, back when they first met in the park on their daily morning runs. Alas, Sam is straight, but he’s now one of Steve’s most valued friends. He used to be in the Air Force, and he’s now working with veterans, helping them to get back to a civilian life and getting them the help they need to heal. Steve owes Sam so much for Bucky’s recovery.

The last to arrive are Clint and Bobbi. Clint is Natasha’s best friend, so of course he and his wife Bobbi had been added to Steve and Bucky’s circle. Bobbi is pregnant with their first child, and she looks so tired. Natasha helps her sit while Clint puts his gifts under the Christmas tree.

Dinner is a happy time. They joke, and sing, and tear into the dinner that Bucky and Steve made, and the meal that has taken so much time to prepare vanishes in an instant. Thor, Natasha, Bucky, and Darcy are now competing over shots of vodka-eggnogs, while Sam is cutting the Christmas cake. Steve passes their shares around, and Clint is already digging in his like an ogre -he was restraining himself from drinking because he and Bobbi were heading home tonight-.

As Steve gives Thor his share, the giant suddenly stares at him. He’s not drunk at all -none of them are, they know better than getting drunk in front of Steve, Pietro, and Wanda-, and there’s a knowing look in his eyes.

“So, friend Steve,” booms Thor, “I saw you get quite a catch last week.”

It’s Thor. He’s loud. Therefore of course everyone hear him, fall silent and stare at Steve, and Steve is now beet-red. Bucky complains loudly;

“Don’t remind me! I came home and couldn’t sleep because of how loud his fuck buddy was!”

“He wasn’t that loud,” muttered Steve. “And we went to bed pretty early!”

“Didn’t get to see him, though,” got on Bucky, ignoring him, and he shoves a piece of cake in his mouth. “Was he really that pretty?”

“Honestly?” laughs Thor. “I would have made a move on him if I wasn’t so deeply in love with my lady Jane.” And he pecks Jane’s cheek loudly. Jane laughs. She’s not bothered by the confession. She knows there's no heart more loyal than Thor's.

“Really?” says Bucky, taken aback. “Come on, he can’t have been that pretty.”

“Is is so strange that I could get lucky sometimes?” snaps Steve.

“Yeah, it is. You turn all awkward and shit when it comes to flirting, Stevie.”

“I didn’t flirt,” groaned Steve, playing around with his piece of cake. “He offered, that’s all.”

“He’s a HOOKER???” gasps Darcy.

“No!” 

But they’re not listening to him and are all laughing. Thor pats his shoulder, and gets closer, saying in a softer voice so that only Steve could hear him;

“I’m pretty sure I’ve seen him in one of Jane’s books.”

“He’s a well-known scientist,” agrees Steve, and hopes Jane doesn’t hear him. He doesn’t want them to know about Tony Stark.

Jane doesn’t hear. He’s safe. Thor pats his shoulder again, and goes on relating a tale about his college days and his friends, “the Warriors Three and the lady Sif”.

When dinner’s over, they open their presents, and then Clint and Bobbi leave. Steve dresses up, as Sharon (Peggy’s cousin) comes to pick him up. His friends cheer at him and wish him luck.

Usually, Steve would stay with them on Christmas Eve. But Peggy insisted on getting him into a charity event, full of rich people, all because they’ve taken a shine on him.

All because of Tony Stark. 

Steve doesn’t know how to feel about that.

So here he is, with Sharon, pushing through the crowd, making polite talk. Sharon doesn’t stay long -she’s a nurse, and it’s not her place, she just came to help Steve and Peggy out-, and Steve can’t seem to spot Peggy, so he’s left alone.

He feels dizzy. The people around him are nauseating with obnoxious wealth and lack of empathy. 

And then a small brunette takes his arm and pulls him towards the balcony, grinning and eyes sparkling. Her fingers around his arm are small and delicate. She’s dressed with perfect taste, her clothes, golden charcoal, vapory and custom-made.

“Hi! I’m Jan!”

“Hum, Steve.”

“Yeah, Steve Rogers, the new artist! I love your art! You should work with me sometimes, we would make fashion explode with awesomeness!”

“Um, you’re…?”

“Jan, Janet Van Dyne? I’m a designer, actually, I’m THE designer!”

“Oh!”

He’s left mouth hanging like a fish’s, because just… wow. The famous Janet Van Dyne is chatting with him as if he was a friend, and she’s saying she wants to work with him! He’s probably dreaming. He probably fell asleep in his couch while his friends were watching their Christmas specials, and anytime soon they’re going to wake him up. 

She keeps parading him around, presenting him to so many people he can’t keep on, until she pushes him right into a circle of three persons; he recognizes Ms Potts, looking absolutely splendid in a golden dress that compliment her long, flaming hair set free on her naked shoulders. Next to her is a tall, imposing-looking colonel, his uniform pristine, the decorations shining on his chest, dark soul-searching eyes, high cheekbones and dark skin. The third man has his back to them, and is dressed in a …golden suit, which should look ridiculous but absolutely isn’t, and the suit hugs him in all the right places, and his nape is familiar, his black wavy hair so so familiar, and he turns around and smiles and God it’s Tony Stark, of course it’s Tony Stark.

“Hey Tony!” greets cheerfully Jan. “I’ve been looking for you all night!”

She looks him over appreciatively, and smiles wider, hands letting go of Steve so as to pat his golden suit’s sleeves.

“Perfect, perfect, perfect! I knew that color would suit you! You look amazing, babe.”

“Thanks, honey bee,” purrs Tony. “I’m always a fan of your designs, I’m so lucky you’re there spoiling me.” And then he gently pushes her hands away and turns towards Steve, whose throat is all closed up and can’t breathe. “Fancy meeting you here, darling,” Tony smiles -it’s his fake smile of his, and Steve feels like vomiting-.

“Hi, Mr Rogers,” says Ms Potts, holding her hand out for him to shake. He shakes it mechanically. He feels like his whole body is shaking. “Your paintings are making quite a hit. I’m very happy for you, and it’s going to be very good for the charity, too,” she says, her voice kind and comforting.

Steve stammers something, some kind of thanks maybe. He’s going to die from embarrassment. Tony pats the colonel’s arm.

“Here, you’ve got to meet my friend Rhodey here. He’s the best.” And he turns toward his friend; “Pumpkin, here’s the guy I was telling you about.”

Not reacting to the pet name, the colonel smiles politely, and grips Steve’s hand in a firm handshake.

“Colonel James Rhodes.”

Steve almost falls into a military salute, and he wants to crawl into a hole and die. Also, does Tony have a pet name for everyone?

“Oh, I can see Justin,” says Ms Potts, looking over Steve’s shoulder. “We have to greet him, Tony.”

“Hell no, I’m not spoiling my night with Hammer’s stupid face. Go without me, Pep.”

Ms Potts rolls her eyes, nods in salutation to them all, and disappears in the crowd. And then Jan claps excitedly.

“Oh, I love this song! Jim, you owed me a dance, didn’t you?”

The colonel laughs, a deep, warm laugh, and invites her, and the two of them head off to the dance floor, leaving Steve alone. With Tony Stark.

Tony tilts his head on the side and his smile goes softer, more genuine.

“Are you enjoying yourself, darling?” he asks. “You look pretty spaced out, to be honest.”

“It’s… um, my first time at a big event like this,” stammers Steve.

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Tony slips a hand under his arm and drags him along, out of the crowd, just like Jan. They probably look like a couple.

“Must be overwhelming,” Tony croons.

He glances at Steve’s suit, and Steve finds himself blushing harder. He knows his suit probably looks cheap next to all those expensive clothes.

“Ms Van Dyne’s work is amazing,” he blurts out, desperately searching for something to say.

“Jan’s work? You mean my suit?” laughs Tony.

“Yes, ah, it looks great on you.”

Shit, now he looks like he’s flirting. And Steve always flirts the most awkwardly possible, so he must sound so awkward!

“Of course it looks great, everything looks great on me,” smirks Tony.

God, God, God, Steve is the awkwardest person to have ever _awkwarded_ , and he doesn’t know what he’s saying, and all he can think of is the maroon silky thong that matched Tony’s shirt, and…

“Does your underwear match your suit? I’ve never seen golden underwear.”

Oh God. Oh God, what did he say!?

Tony stops and gapes at him, and then he’s laughing, laughing, laughing. He lets go of Steve’s arm and wipes tears out of his eyes, that’s how much he’s laughing, and Steve wants to die.

Tony calms down, eventually, and his eyes soften as he puts his hand back on Steve’s arm, squeezing it gently.

“Steve, I don’t do repeats.”

“Repeats?” parrots Steve, and then he gets it and stammers; “oh! I’m sorry, I-I didn’t mean to presume-”

Tony squeezes his arm, again. 

“It’s okay, darling. I’m sorry, really. I kinda wanna worship you for that line alone, but I really don’t… don’t sleep with people twice. It’s got nothing to do with you. So, sorry, I won’t be coming home with you tonight.”

Steve swallows.

“That’s a shame,” he says, straightening up. “I still have that drawing of you.”

“That drawing of me?” repeats Tony, frowning, and then he starts; “Oh! You mean the drawing you did in the morning? When I was… um…”

Steve’s heart jumps in his throat as he sees Tony’s cheeks coloring.

“Yes, that drawing,” he says, unwavering.

“Oh,” breathes Tony, and he looks terribly embarrassed, and Steve can finally breathe again.

Then again, Tony doesn’t know that Steve has taken his drawing just yesterday, and fixed it, so he doesn’t know that the drawing isn’t as scandalously pornographic as it was before.

“I… I can’t buy it, I’m sorry, Steve,” rasps Tony, and he can’t quite look Steve in the eyes.

“You don’t need to. It’s Christmas. I wanted to give it to you,” insists Steve. “I can’t keep it, anyway. Unless you want to risk someone stumbling over it?”

It’s a low blow, he knows, but he doesn’t want to spoil the surprise. Tony sighs, deeply. He looks a little consternated.

“I don’t suppose I can ask an artist to destroy their own work…” he sighs.

Steve is in his Captain-mode, and there’s no stopping him. He reaches up, hands gently taking hold on Tony’s arms, and he looks straight into his eyes. Tony looks like he's skipping a breath.

“Please come home with me. I’m not asking for a repeat, but please let me gift you that drawing. As a thanks. You’ve done a lot for me, Mr Stark, and I want to thank you properly.”

Tony’s staring right back at him, eyes wide and entranced, and his cheeks are still dusted with a blush when he nods, swallows, and answers in a rough voice;

“Ah, sure, sure, darling. Okay. I wasn’t going to stay here for much longer, anyway.” 

Steve texts Peggy not to look for him, Tony calls his own chauffeur, and they find themselves sitting in the back of Tony’s expensive car in an awkward silence. Thankfully, the ride doesn’t last for too long.

“There’s light in your flat,” notices Tony as they get out of the car, and he looks hesitant.

“Ah, yes, my friends are there. But, you don’t have to go and meet them,” Steve explains.

“You want me to get in like a _thief_?” frowns Tony, his distrust seemingly swept away.

“You did leave like a thief last time,” retorts Steve, holding out his hand to him.

Tony laughs at that, and takes the offered hand. They go up the stairs together, much slower than last time, when they had barely been able to take their hands off each other.

“I don’t stay in the mornings, sugar,” explains Tony softly.

“Like you don’t do repeats?”

“Yes. I’m sorry if you felt… _robbed_ or something,” smirked Tony.

“Well, breakfast is sacred. I felt bad, knowing you were out there with an empty stomach,” replies Steve, and Tony grins, amusement in his eyes.

No repeats. Steve knows nothing’s going to happen, but strangely enough they’re still holding hands. It feels natural and comforting. Tony’s hand is warm, and still as rough as last time.

Steve stops in front of his door. The muffled voices of his friends can be heard from there, and he holds his index over his lips, smiling. Tony muffles a snicker, and nods silently. Steve opens quietly the door, and slips in, pulling Tony behind him. From the entrance, they can’t see the living-room, nor can they be seen, and Steve hastily drags Tony down the corridor, leading him into his room and shutting the door behind him.

They are both slightly panting, as if caught doing something dangerous or naughty, and they look at each other and start laughing.

“Shh, shh!” chortles Steve, pressing his free palm on Tony’s mouth.

“Shh yourself,” snickers Tony, taping his fingers on Steve’s lips, and then he licks Steve’s palm.

Steve pulls back his hand with a high-pitch yelp of surprise, and Tony lets go of his hand and presses both his palms on his mouth to muffle it, and then it’s impossible to stop laughing, the both of them falling on their asses on the bed behind them.

After a while, they finally calm down, and Steve stands to get the drawing. He can see how Tony fidgets, how he’s getting nervous. He probably doesn’t want to see the drawing at all. Steve offers it to him, and waits.

Tony reluctantly looks up.

And then his eyes widen.

He stays silent, and looks a little pale, and Steve starts to get concerned, and shit, maybe even fixed the drawing is still ugly and pornographic, maybe Steve failed at changing it into art.

He had worked all yesterday on it. He hadn’t erased much, he had just redrawn Tony’s hands and arms so he wouldn’t be fucking himself anymore, but most of the rest had been left untouched. Steve had honestly thought that the drawing wasn’t pornographic anymore, but a beautiful nude, but… but obviously, Tony hated it.

Tony keeps staring, and keeps quiet. His eyes trace over the lines. On the drawing, he’s lying spent, body relaxed and melting in the bed, sheets hugging his calves, both his legs bent and parted, feet planted in the mattress and knees up. He’s nude, his cock soft and laying on his stomach, his left hand resting right beside it, his right hand curled on his thigh. He’s looking straight at the viewer, a soft expression on his face, lips slightly parted in a lazy smile, dark hair curling on his neck and forehead.

Steve had wanted to make him look like someone loved. And maybe he had taken too much liberties, because the Tony on the drawing looks like he’s watching his lover with deep affection after a night of passionate lovemaking, but…

But Steve hadn’t redrawn his face. That expression that he had caught on the paper back then, in the half-lit bedroom, had been real. He just hadn’t noticed it back then, too focused on Tony’s hands. And Tony had eventually looked away, focusing on his pleasure rather than Steve…

“ _Steve_ ,” breathes Tony, and then he’s standing, taking the drawing out of Steve’s hands, setting it carefully on the easel, and before Steve can compute what’s going on, Tony is taking hold of his face and bringing him up for a deep kiss.

“What?” gasps Steve when they finally pull out for air.

Tony’s looking at him with eyes so bright, and Steve realizes that he’s on the verge of tears.

“Thank you,” says Tony. “I _love_ it. Fuck, sugar, screw my rules, let’s have a repeat.”

And he’s diving right back into a kiss. Shoes, coats, suits, everything is dropped unceremoniously on the floor, and between kisses, Steve gasps;

“Golden lacy underwear, really, Tony?”

And though he’s saying this as if teasing, he thinks the lace looks anything but ridiculous on him, despite Tony being muscular and hairy, instead of all curvy and smooth.

“Really,” laughs Tony, and he pushes him on the bed and joins him, hands planting themselves on each side of Steve’s head, legs tangling together, hips locked. Their growing erections are pressed together, but still separated by the thin lace of Tony’s underwear, and Steve runs his fingers over the lace, follows its patterns, tracing them from Tony’s hips to his front. He can feel Tony’s sex hardening under his fingers, stretching the lace, and Tony is muttering something about him being a tease. 

Then Steve shivers as Tony rocks against him, the feeling of the lace on Steve’s most sensitive skin foreign and so, so arousing, that he feels the blood rushing down and engorging his half-hard member. He sinks his fingers under the golden hem, threads them through the dark curls half-hidden underneath the lace, takes Tony’s erection in a gentle grip, giving him a few strokes before letting him go. Tony groans, moving in to kiss him, and as their mouths meet, Steve blindly pushes the undergarment down Tony’s hips, down his thighs and to his knees. Tony fumbles a little, kicking it off, and for a few seconds Steve’s eyes follow the golden lace as it falls and slumps on the floor. He’s thinking about how gorgeous Tony looked in it, and wonders if he would let him draw him again. He wants to put on paper the contrast of Tony’s tanned skin and dark hair with the golden (usually thought to be feminine) lace, how the almost see-through undergarment fit closely to the shape of his penis, bottom, and upper thighs.

As Tony bends and kisses him, again, rocking into Steve, they both grow fully hard, and it feels so good to get that warm, warm and sensitive skin against the other’s, that Steve forgets all about the lace and links his arms around Tony’s waist, anchoring himself and moving with him. It’s not smooth enough, so they stop for lube, picking it up from the night table and pouring it on their lengths, and then the slide is much easier, much more pleasurable. Tony rocks and rocks against him, and Steve is gasping loudly, Tony’s teeth nipping at his neck and down his chest and nipples while Steve runs his hands down the small of Tony’s back and all over the firm, working muscles of his ass.

“Can I fuck you?” growls Tony against his throat as Steve starts getting dangerously close to the edge.

“Be my guest,” moans Steve, and then Tony pushes himself off him. Steve spreads his legs and Tony sits between them, lubes up his fingers and opens him up carefully, watching him all the while. It’s embarrassing and unnerving, and Steve hides his face with his arm as Tony draws out of him higher whines.

Then Tony enters him. It’s a glorious pressure inside of him. Steve feels full, so full, and even through the condom Tony feels so warm, and God, how he moves, how he moves, graceful and fluid, rolling his hips a little on each thrust, and it’s so, so good, Steve’s insides lightening up with pleasure at each stroke.

Tony’s fingers are digging into Steve’s thighs, Steve’s heels pressing into the small of Tony’s back, legs quivering and locked around his waist, and Tony’s thrusts are sharp, swift and shallow, never rough, never too hard, never too deep. He doesn't nail Steve's prostate until Steve directs him with his heel, but it's to be expected from a man who stuck to women for too long. Now Tony is brushing against that exquisite spot on every slide, without fail. He’s panting loudly, his breath hot over Steve’s throat, and Steve is tangling his fingers in the soft curls of dark hair on Tony’s nape, as if holding him in place and maybe lightly pulling on it, as though he could somehow control Tony’s pace like that. And as the pleasure rolls in Steve and coils tightly around his spine, sparkling up all over his body, Steve forgets about his friends in the living-room and moans, groans, keens, and for the first time ever, he comes completely untouched.

Tony swears, faltering in his rhythm but not stopping, seeking his own pleasure, until his hips stutter, and he shudders bodily, coming with a shout.

Steve’s head is spinning, and he takes a moment to recover, eyes closed and breathing deeply. Tony pulls out of him and collapses next to him, panting and swearing, whole body trembling.

Steve is pulled out of his torpor when Tony stands up, and starts picking up his clothes in a hurry.

“Hey, wait, what are you doing?” he exclaims, sitting up.

“Getting the Hell out of here,” says Tony in a shaky voice, and that’s when Steve realizes he’s crying. 

He jumps out of bed, ignoring his own wobbly legs, rushing to stop him, embracing him tightly, and Tony presses his forehead against his neck and cries.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s okay, Tony, love,” murmurs Steve, caressing his hair with a gentle hand.

“I don’t do repeats,” hiccups Tony. “I’m the kind of idiot who falls for someone in a heartbeat, so I don’t… don’t do repeats. This was a b-bad idea. Idiot, idiot.”

Steve kisses the top of his head and his arm tightens its hold around Tony’s waist as he guides him back to bed. They sit together.

“It doesn’t have to be a repeat,” whispers Steve. “I like you. I’d love to get to know you better.”

“I don’t date,” sobs Tony. “Here, have the rich boy boo-hoo story. People date me for my money, my fame, or just the sex. So I don’t date. Not anymore.”

“I don’t care about your money, I didn’t even know who you were before I googled you, and the sex… well, the sex is amazing, but really, I wanna know you, _you_. Not the sex.”

“I asked you for sex and you jumped right in, and then you invited me for sex, again. Don’t pretend you didn’t know you’d got me with that drawing, asshole!”

Tony tries pulling out of his embrace, but Steve holds him, and Tony, while stronger than him, doesn’t seem to have the heart to physically push him away.

“That drawing was pure porn before I fixed it,” confesses Steve. “I thought you deserved better than porn, so I changed it into a nude. I… I had no idea it would make you change your mind about _repeats_. I didn’t invite you here for sex. I swear. I just… I just wanted you to have a nice Christmas. As a thanks for buying my paintings.”

“I fuckin’ hate Christmas,” murmurs Tony.

“I figured,” whispers Steve.

Tony calms down. It’s a very sudden quiet that falls on him, and Steve is worried he said too much, that he overstepped. But Tony breathes in deeply, sighs, and then says, voice back to normal;

“Yeah. I lost my parents just before Christmas. I usually drink myself sick on the anniversary of their death, but I’ve been trying to be sober. I fail on that date, every year. So this year I thought… I thought I could do sex instead. But… I didn’t think I’d hook up with someone like you. I already liked your spirit, but when I saw your art… I just knew. You’re amazing, Steve. And… dating you would be a disaster and it would end in heartbreak. I don’t want that.”

“Well, this is already ending in heartbreak,” said Steve. “Because I’m already gone for you.”

“You don’t know me.”

“You don’t know me either.”

“I’ve seen your paintings, and that’s a direct look into your soul.”

“I’ve read about you, and you made Bucky’s prosthetic arm. That’s a direct look into _your_ soul, and even if we part ways right now and forever, I’d always love you because that arm fuckin’ saved Bucky’s life.”

Tony’s staring at him with wide eyes. Steve’s throat is hurting and all closed-up and there are traitorous tears spilling out of his eyes.

Well. There’s that. Love. Steve never believed in love at first sight, and now he wants to kick himself because he’s head over hills in love with someone he met a grand total of two times.

“Huh,” says Tony, and he looks down into his lap, where he’s been fidgeting and worrying his nails.

“Yeah,” says Steve, because he has to say something, and now his brain is broken and he doesn’t know how to fix this mess.

“I have no idea who’s Bucky,” tries Tony, a tentative smile on his lips.

“Bucky’s my best friend and roommate,” explains Steve. “He’s my only family. We enrolled together, and he lost his arm in the war.”

Tony looks at him, carefully.

“A little thin for a soldier,” he says, hesitantly.

“I had just a little more muscles back then, but yeah, I can’t buff up. I’m not weak, though, you know.”

“I know,” smiles Tony. “You fucked me real good, last time.”

Steve huffs.

“How about we don’t talk about fucking anymore?”

“I don’t know, it’s Christmas, we should be enjoying ourselves.”

“You’re the one who said he didn’t want the sex.”

“And I’m the one who started it,” admits Tony easily. “I’m sorry for the rich boy sob story. You didn’t deserve to have my shit dumped on you like that.”

“Don’t say that, that ‘rich boy’ stuff. Didn’t I say I’ve read about you? It says you’ve been in jail for drug consumption, and then after Stane stole your company from you, you were homeless for a few months and you had to build Stark Innovations from scraps. I know you’ve had it tough. And, I’ve meant to ask…”

He carefully reaches for Tony’s chest. He hadn’t noticed the scars the first time, probably because of the shirt at first, and then because he had taken Tony from behind. However, he had drawn them, though it was only when he had worked over the drawing again that he had noticed. Now, he can see them, the long scar over his heart, and the little ones scattered around it. It looks awfully like scars from shrapnel. Bucky has the same ones, hell, Steve has some on his back too. He traces the long, rosy scar with his finger, gently.

“What are those scars? It looks like shrapnel and heart surgery.”

Tony gulps, and lifts his left hand to hold Steve’s hand over his chest.

“It is.”

“The wiki didn’t mention anything about that. Is it okay… is it okay to tell me?”

Tony raises his head, a haunted look in his eyes, and Steve regrets asking him. Then he shakes his head, and presses a kiss on Steve’s mouth.

“Another time, perhaps. If… if this works out?”

Steve embraces him and kisses him back, and lowers him gently unto the mattress.

“Okay, let’s not… let’s not decide anything right now. You’re tired. Let’s get to sleep. You can tell me tomorrow if you want this to be something more, okay?”

Tony nods.

“Good,” smiles Steve. “I’ll be right back. Don’t flee.”

“I’m not fleeing.”

Steve kisses him again, a chaste peck. Then he dresses up in his pajamas and heads out for the living-room. He had been dreading the reaction of his friends, but now that he’s in the corridor, he can hear loud blaster noises and a resounding fanfare, and guesses that they’re watching Star Wars.

He enters the living-room, and starts picking up food on the table. A piece of Christmas cake, a few ginger bread cookies, and a bottle of water from the fridge. He glances at his friends.

They’re all lying around in the couch and the bean bags, like a pile of  hamsters. Thor is snoring loudly, Jane snuggled against him. Darcy, Pietro and Bucky are yelling stuff. Nat has her feet on Maria’s lap, and Wanda is curled up in a bean bag, eyes glued to the television. Pietro is lying directly on the carpet, his back against Bucky and Darcy’s legs, and Darcy, while arguing with the two boys, is weaving thin braids into his hair. Sam isn’t there; he has probably left to join his family’s dinner.

Nat spots him.

“Hey, Steve”, she greets.

“Oh hey Stevie, you back already?” exclaims Bucky.

The sound on the TV is loud enough that they wouldn’t have heard them, and Steve is much relieved about that, especially since Wanda and Pietro are still very young.

“You may want to lower the volume,” he says. “The neighbors won’t be happy, and it’s almost 1 AM.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky waves him off. “Come and join us, my young padawan!”

“No thanks, I’m tired. I’ll, um, get to bed. See you tomorrow, guys.”

“Oh come on Stevie, don’t be a Grinch!” calls Bucky.

Steve ignores him and takes the food and the bottle, and starts heading back to his room, when a collective “STOP!” freezes him on the spot.

“What?” he stammers, heart hammering in his chest.

“Why are you bringing food in your room?” says Bucky.

“There’s a hickey on you throat!” yells Darcy.

“You’re limping,” notes Nat, eyes narrowing.

And here’s the blush, blooming on Steve’s cheeks.

“Uh…”

“Oh my God, did you get laid AGAIN?” yelps Bucky.

“Is the guy here?” exclaims Darcy excitedly. “Or did you have public sex at the gala? Oh my God you naughty boy!”

“Stop it!” growls Steve. “He’s here, leave him alone. We’re gonna sleep.”

“Ew,” says Pietro, crunching up his nose. “You had sex with a dude right next to us? _Ew_!”

“Christ, my bedroom is all over at the very opposite of this flat, there’s Bucky’s room and the bathroom between it, you are grossly exaggerating, kid!” snapped Steve.

“Yeah, exactly, GROSS!” says Pietro.

Nat shoos Steve away.

“Go on, go feed your guy. But we wanna meet him tomorrow.”

Steve huffs.

Thor stirs and yawns.

“Is he the same that last time?” he asks in a sleepy voice.

Steve wants to throw his hands in the air, but he’s still carrying the food and the bottle, so he just storms off.

He has a moment of panic as he finds his bedroom empty. But then Tony comes out from the bathroom, hair wet and body wrapped in a towel, and Steve wants to cry in relief.

Tony smiles to him, and it’s the most beautiful thing on Earth. 

They settle down on the bed, share the cake and the cookies, and cuddle together. He has lent his largest yoga pants and sweatshirt to Tony, who looks absolutely adorable in it, which is probably a strange thing to call for a man as masculine as Tony.

Eventually they turn off the light.

“Merry Christmas,” murmurs Steve against Tony’s lips, and he feels him smile.

“Merry Christmas,” whispers back Tony, and he kisses him, tenderly.

They fall asleep in each other’s arms, Steve’s head nestled in the hollow of Tony’s neck and shoulder.  
  
***  
  
It’s Christmas morning, and the most amazing Christmas Steve ever had. He wakes up to Tony kissing his forehead, and is a little embarrassed when he realizes that he had been drooling on Tony’s chest all night, but Tony just laughs it out, and they stay in bed for a long hour more, lazily kissing and caressing each other. 

No sex. They’re both half-hard, but neither of them want to go there. Steve invites him for breakfast, Tony hesitates a little.

“I… I’m sorry, Steve, I’d rather leave. I’m sure your friends are nice, but…”

Steve squeezes his hand.

“I understand. I’ll get you out of here quietly.”

“Thank you,” murmurs Tony, pressing a kiss on his cheek.

Steve’s heart is hammering in his chest, and he feels the anxiety skyrocketing. They had a great time together, but Tony still hasn’t said anything about his decision. Hesitantly, Steve kisses him, gentle, on the corner of his mouth.

“Are we… are we together?”

He feels Tony shifting, uncomfortable. And then his heart drops as Tony shakes his head.

“I… Not yet. Not yet, Steve. I’d like that, but I’d like to go on real dates first, and if that works, okay. We’ll be together.”

“Okay,” agrees Steve, though he feels a little heartbroken.

Tony dresses up, and Steve escorts him out of his room, checking that no one’s there to watch them. He unlocks the door for Tony, and in a second Tony’s outside, giving him a little wave of his fingers and then rushing down the stairs, vanishing out of Steve’s life in a blink.

When Steve closes the door with a sigh, he jumps as he finds Natasha standing behind him, arms crossed and one eyebrow lifted.

“So that’s why you didn’t introduce him,” she says, her tone neutral.

“Please don’t tell them,” begs Steve.

Natasha studies him in silence, and then shrugs, turning away and heading back into the living-room;

“Com’on, Steve. Now that you’re finally here, we can open up the presents.”

Steve follows her, flushing when his friends already gathered around the Christmas tree cheered at his arrival. They are a little disappointed to not meet Steve’s mysterious one night-stand (not an one night-stand, hopes Steve in his mind), but they let it go and the rest of the morning is spent in ripping the colorful wrapping papers, laughing, thanking, and teasing each other.  
  
***  
  
New Year’s Eve passes, and Tony still hasn’t called. Steve doesn’t know if he should call himself, or if this is a clear sign of Tony not being interested in a date.

In the end, he sends the nude drawing to Tony (since Tony didn’t take it, saying he was afraid of damaging it while transporting it) and with it flowers and a card inviting him on a date, and hopes he didn’t ridiculed himself. That’s how he is, though, a stupidly romantic guy, and he wasn’t about to pretend to be someone he isn’t.

Tony calls him later in the morning, and says yes to the date, and Steve dances and whoops all over the living-room until Bucky, who was washing the dishes, gets fed up with it and throws the wet soapy sponge on the back of his neck. It soon turns into an intense battle that leaves soap everywhere, but they don’t mind, for it has been such a long time since the both of them were so happy.  
  
Of course, it would later turn out that the first two dates with Tony are an absolute _disaster_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed and see you next time for the third and last chapter! Don't hesitate to comment to express your feelings! Kudos are also always appreciated! <3


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